


Jumping Off the Deep End

by iamtheenemy (Steph)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Says Fuck It, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Richie Tozier Has Issues, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Stan Uris Lives, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23900824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steph/pseuds/iamtheenemy
Summary: He didn’t know what he expected to see when he barged into the room, but Eddie hooked up to a thousand beeping machines and smiling brightly at him wasn’t it. Richie skidded to a stop in the doorway, nearly causing a pile up behind him. His breath caught inside his chest at the sight of Eddie, his hair a riotous mess and his doe eyes wide and glassy.“Hey, guys,” Eddie said when he saw them. There was a nurse tinkering with one of the machines beside him.They ignored her and huddled around Eddie’s bed. Richie stood near the back corner and drank in the sight of him. He squeezed his hands together and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying. Again. Jesus.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 310





	Jumping Off the Deep End

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story before the coronavirus was even a twinkle in a bat's eye. It began as one thing and ended up as something completely different. 
> 
> thanks to cam for reading this super last minute xo
> 
> Consider this blanket permission to use this story for any remix, podfic, translation, fanart or other transformative work you'd like, but please inform me, credit me and provide me any links so that I can include it in the notes.
> 
> Join me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theres-a-goldensky)!

Richie sat in the hard plastic chair in the waiting room of the hospital. It was relatively quiet in the area around them, tucked away as they were in the corner. He was bent over with his hands dangling between his legs and his head bowed as he tried to regulate his breathing.

A yellow bag landed in his lap, and he pushed back far enough to see that it was chips from the vending machine.

Richie studied them for a moment and then declared, “If I eat these, I will puke.”

“We haven’t eaten all day,” Bill said. “At least drink some water.”

Richie turned to see Bill waving a bottle of water at him. He obligingly gulped half of it down, feeling the liquid roil in his empty stomach a moment before settling.

“There,” Richie said. “Happy?”

“Yes,” Bill said, just as Bev replied, “Don’t be an asshole, Richie.”

Richie groaned and rubbed his face for what must have been the fiftieth time since they ran into the ER with Eddie’s barely conscious body. His hands felt like sandpaper - pruny and cracked, with mud and his best friend’s blood and literal shit caked under his nails. He was probably going to give himself pink eye.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

They had been waiting for over two hours as Eddie got wheeled away and patched up. The last time a doctor had come out to update them, the prognosis had been good. Apparently a few inches to the left and that would have been all she wrote. But Richie had pushed Eddie just far enough away that It’s claw had sliced relatively harmlessly through Eddie’s side and missed piercing any of the important stuff.

One good thing about Mike staying in Derry was that his connections with everyone in the city meant that he could smooth things over with the hospital staff when they dragged their bleeding friend through the doors.

Now that there was nothing to do but sit and wait, Richie couldn't stop his memories from the deadlights from replaying in his mind.

_Eddie flying through the air, caught on Its claw. The light going out of his eyes. Richie being forced to leave him alone under the rubble of their worst nightmares. Flying back to LA. Getting blasted on the plane. Crying himself to sleep next to a stranger. The dark, cold pit in the bottom of his stomach. The way it hurt to breathe. The bone deep certainty that he wouldn’t ever recover from losing Eddie. Not Eddie. Take him instead. It should have been him. Why wasn’t it him? No one fucking cared about Richie. No one would even miss him. Why couldn’t it have been -_

“Richie. Hey, Rich,” Bill said, giving him a shake. “C-c-come on, man. Calm down, everything is going to be okay. Eddie’s fine, Rich. He’s fine.”

Richie sucked in a desperate breath, his lungs burning, and realized that there were tears stinging his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. He hastily wiped them away and shuddered around a sob.

Stan, who was sitting on his other side, wrapped an arm around Richie’s shoulders and reeled him in. Richie reached out and returned the hug, his arms a vice around Stan’s back. Stan was the only one Richie ever told about his feelings for Eddie, back when they were fourteen, and again when they’d come back to Derry and all those memories resurfaced, but he was willing to bet the others had figured it out by now. He wasn’t exactly playing it cool.

Richie knew he wouldn’t shake those images from the deadlights until he saw Eddie alive with his own two eyes. At the start of this trip, the worst thing that he could imagine was watching Eddie get on a plane and leave him again. But now he’d seen a glimpse of something so much worse that he’ll be happy just knowing Eddie was safe back in his boring, comfortable life.

It was another hour later, after Ben and Mike rejoined them when they were done dealing with logistical things that Richie couldn’t even filter into his mind right then - thank fucking god there were actual adults with him - that the doctor came back.

“Mr. Kaspbrak is out of recovery and getting settled into his room. He’ll need to stay here a few days just to make sure he heals properly, but you can visit him now.”

Richie was out of his seat before he could finish his sentence.

“What room?” he asked.

The doctor smiled kindly at him, and Richie ground his teeth and tried not to show how impatient he was.

“You should know that he’s awake but on some medication to manage the pain,” he said. “So he’s a little out of it.”

“What room?” Richie asked again.

“431,” he answered. “It’s on the west end. The elevators are down that way…”

Richie was off, out of the waiting room and towards the elevators without another word. Behind him, he could hear the others thanking the doctor and then hurrying to catch up to him. He held the elevator open as they trooped in after him and he pressed the button for the fourth floor.

He didn’t know what he expected to see when he barged into the room, but Eddie hooked up to a thousand beeping machines and smiling brightly at him wasn’t it. Richie skidded to a stop in the doorway, nearly causing a pile up behind him. His breath caught inside his chest at the sight of Eddie, his hair a riotous mess and his doe eyes wide and glassy.

“Hey, guys,” Eddie said when he saw them. There was a nurse tinkering with one of the machines beside him.

They ignored her and huddled around Eddie’s bed. Richie stood near the back corner and drank in the sight of him. He squeezed his hands together and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from crying. Again. Jesus.

The doctor had promised he was alright, but there was a difference between hearing it and seeing Eddie, clearly stoned out of his mind but very much alive.

Beside him, Mike put a hand on Richie’s shoulder, anchoring him with his reassuring presence.

“Hey, Eddie,” Bev said softly, leaning over the bed to kiss him on his uninjured cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I don’t even have a body,” Eddie responded, the words coming out slurred. He was flagging, his eyelids fluttering shut for longer and longer seconds before he wrenched them open again.

“The alternative would be much worse,” Ben told him.

The nurse finished typing and then checked his IV.

“Mr. Kaspbrak, try not to put too much weight on your left side,” she said. “The less pressure on the injury, the faster it will start to heal.”

“Donna’s my nurse,” Eddie answered. “Look at how clean her hair is.”

“Hi, everyone,” Donna the nurse said with a polite smile.

Stan couldn’t hold back a laugh. “That’s a compliment coming from Eddie,” he explained.

Eddie frowned, staring at Stan with unfocused eyes. “Of course it is,” he said. “Donna, these are - my friends. This is Bev.” He patted her hand. “Ben has the, you know -” He made a weak gesture that was supposed to indicate Ben’s muscles and pointed at him. “Mike’s wearing the hat. Richie’s got his stupid hands.”

Richie’s eyebrows rose and he heard Bill huff a quiet laugh beside him.

“Bill, tell her who you are,” Eddie demanded, still so bossy even when he was that out of it. God, Richie fucking loved him. With an indulgent smile, Bill did as he was told, giving the nurse a little wave. “Thass Bill.” Eddie’s mouth was drooping, his words coming even slower as he drifted off. “And Stan has hair.”

“Sure do,” Stan agreed cheerfully.

Richie cleared his throat to be sure he could speak without embarrassing himself and asked, “Hey, Eds, what the hell’s wrong with my hands?”

“Big,” Eddie answered. “Hairy.”

Richie raised them up to inspect them. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them, aside from the dark hair that went up to his knuckles. Hell, they were even less disgusting now, after Bev made him wash up. He was about to say as much, but then Eddie continued.

“Like ‘em too much.”

Richie froze, feeling his eyes widen.

Eddie, oblivious, turned to his nurse. “Don’t tell my wife,” he said.

She laughed awkwardly and replied, “The heavy pain medication will be out of his system soon. I’ll let you all talk privately.”

She scooted out of there like her clean hair was on fire, and the rest of them stood in silence, staring at Richie while he had a nervous breakdown.

“Where’s Donna?” Eddie asked after a moment.

“Jesus Christ, what do they have you _on_?” Richie demanded. His face burned, and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

Eddie looked down at himself and then back up at Richie. “A bed,” he answered and then passed right the fuck out.

“I’ll be back,” Richie mumbled into the silence that followed. He shrugged off Mike’s hand and rushed out of the room and into the bustling hallway. He located a restroom sign and dashed for it.

The unisex, single person bathroom was small but clean. Richie locked the door and slammed the cover down on the toilet before his knees gave out and he collapsed down on it. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to level out his breathing.

Eddie was fine. Eddie was high as fuck, he had a _hole_ in his side, but he had been awake and talking, and the doctor said that he’d recover. It was fine, everything was _fine_ , so Richie could stop this slow motion nervous breakdown that he was having.

He stood back up on shaking legs and splashed cold water on his face. One of the lenses on his glasses had broken during the fight, and blood seeped into the spidery cracks. Catching the dark shadow of it out of the corner of his eye was giving him a migraine. He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser, wet them in the faucet, and then pressed them into the back of his head and hissed when he touched the wound there. The towels came back stained red. So maybe it wasn’t just the broken glasses causing his headache.

The whole left side of his body was one long bruise, from under his arm all the way down to his thigh. When Richie checked on it hours ago, it was blue, but now it was a purple dark enough to almost be black in some places.

He looked in the bathroom mirror at his haggard appearance, and abruptly, he remembered doing the same thing before, in the future Pennywise showed him.

_He had stared at himself in the mirror above the sink in his motel room, pressing in closer until his image became myopic, only red-rimmed eyes and ash grey skin. When he couldn't take looking at himself anymore, he'd slammed his fist against the glass, shattering the whole thing. Mike had rushed in, alerted by the noise. Richie had just enough energy to take an uncoordinated swing at him with his bloody fist before losing his balance and crashing headfirst into Mike’s chest._

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“Richie?” Ben called from the other side.

“Fuck off, I’m taking a shit!” Richie said.

“Well, hurry up. We’re going down to get food in the cafeteria and you’re coming with us. The doctor said Eddie will be out for hours,” Ben replied.

“I’m not hungry,” Richie said, feeling like a teenager fighting with his parent.

The feeling only got worse when Ben said, “Come out or I’m getting Bev.”

Richie rolled his eyes and flushed the toilet with his boot. Then he opened the door and glared at Ben.

“Gonna tattle on me to mom?” he asked.

Ben shrugged. “Whatever works, man, I’m starving. I’ll even be generous and not mention the fact that you didn’t wash your hands, since we both know you didn’t actually use the bathroom either. Come on, they’re already down in the cafeteria.”

Richie balled his hands into fists at his sides and didn’t move.

“Richie?” Ben said again.

“Just…” Richie answered, looking over Ben’s shoulder at Eddie’s room down the hall. “I need to see him one more time first.”

Ben’s face softened, the way Richie knew it would. “Sure, Rich,” he said.

They walked back into the room and Richie gripped the safety rail up along the side of the bed as he stared at Eddie’s sleeping form. It was quiet except for the beeping of the machines.

“He looks good,” Richie said finally. He watched the steady rise and fall of Eddie’s chest and the way his left hand twitched on top of the sheets.

“Yeah,” Ben agreed. “The doctor told Mike he’ll only need to stay here for a couple days. Four, max. Did you know we went to high school with him?”

"The doctor?" Richie asked.

"Mmhm," Ben answered.

Richie shrugged, not taking his eyes away from Eddie. “By this time next week, he’ll be back in New York with his wife. Maybe we could all get a group chat going.”

“Richie…” Ben said, his voice soft and pitying.

Pasting on a smile, Richie said, “Nah, don’t worry, Benny. He’s alive. That’s enough, right? He’ll go on to analyze risks another day.”

Ben still had the same hangdog expression on his inhumanly handsome face, and it was so endearing that Richie had to roll his eyes.

“Ben, buddy. I never expected anything else.” He laughed a bit to himself and admitted, “Hell, twelve hours ago, I couldn’t even imagine an outcome _this_ good. All seven of us walking out of here. The clown gone for good. We won, man.”

“Yeah, but maybe if you talked to him - “

Richie flinched and his whole stomach dropped in panic as he reflexively checked on Eddie. He slept on, face turned away from Richie and Ben and pressed into the pillow. “Don’t you fucking dare, Ben, you hear me?” He grabbed onto Ben’s wrist and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Don’t you _dare_ say a fucking _word_ to Eddie about this - ” He would have been embarrassed by the desperation in his voice if he wasn’t so terrified.

Ben’s free hand clutched Richie’s shoulder and he rushed to correct him, eyes wide. “No, I wouldn’t, Richie. I swear, I won’t tell him. It’s not my place to say anything. But me and Bev -”

Richie was so abruptly sick of this conversation that for a split second he thought he might either throw up or throw a punch. Instead he squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a moment and said, “Listen, I know you have good intentions here, but please don’t fucking compare your situation to mine. Look at you and then and look at me. I’m a pathetic, 40-year-old closet case making money telling other people’s shitty jokes and wasting the last three decades of my life being in love with someone I couldn’t even fucking _remember_.

“When I saw him again, at the restaurant, it was like being slammed in the face with a two-by-four: there he was, this guy who’s been hiding in the back of my head for thirty fucking years, and he’s standing in front of me, this feral, shit-kicking gremlin from all my teenage fantasies, and everything came rushing back. Then I found out he’s married. To a woman. And I remembered the score. So, I mean this with love, but please fuck right off with your optimistic bullshit, Prince Charming.”

Ben looked stricken. “I’m sure you’ll find someone,” he said.

Richie covered his face with his hands and smothered a slightly hysterical laugh. How was he so nice _all the time_? It must be exhausting. Richie had it in him to be nice once, maybe twice a day. Three times, if he got his hands on some really good weed.

“Come on, let’s go eat,” he said, giving Eddie one final look over his shoulder as they left the room.

* * *

The others were already sitting at a table and eating when Ben and Richie arrived down in the cafeteria. Ben grabbed a tray and handed Richie one as well. When it became clear that Richie wasn’t going to pick out any food, Ben took a cheeseburger and fries from the hot food area and tossed it on Richie’s tray. He took a grilled chicken breast and some salad for himself.

A bottle of Pepsi went on Richie’s tray and a bottle of water went on Ben’s. Richie tossed a pack of chocolate chip cookies in with his food, and Ben slanted an encouraging smile at him.  
At the register, Ben performed some rich guy magic where he paid for both of them before Richie even had a chance to reach for his wallet, and then they joined the others at the table.

Richie sat down between Bev and Stan and stared down blankly at his food.

“Richie,” Mike said, “I was just telling everyone else that the...situation at the library has been taken care of.”

Richie choked out a laugh. He’d somehow forgotten about the serial killer he’d murdered. It had been that kind of a day.

“Taken care of how?” Bill asked.

Mike shrugged and gave Bill a look. “Do you really want to know, or...?”

“I vote for not knowing,” Stan said.

“Seconded,” Bev chimed in.

“Third,” Ben said.

“The nays have it,” Mike replied and took a bite of his turkey sandwich.

“Richie?” Bev said. When Richie turned to look at her, she stuffed a fry into his mouth. “Eat,” she ordered.

The moment the taste of salt and potato hit his tongue, he realized that he was fucking _starving_ and began to shovel food into his mouth.

“There you go,” she said approvingly.

“So, I think you guys should know that I’m going to tell Patty everything when I get home,” Stan said. He waved around his limp slice of cheese pizza. “I’m not gonna lie to her about this. She might try to have me committed, but…”

“We’ll back you up,” Ben said.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna tell Audra,” Bill admitted. “She’ll probably think I’m workshopping the plot for another book.”

“Tom could get fucked,” Bev said vehemently. Mike raised his bottle of iced tea in salute to that.

“And speaking of telling spouses,” Stan said, with a quick, apologetic look over at Richie, “someone needs to call Eddie’s wife. I know Mike smoothed it over with the doctors earlier, but she has a right to know that her husband is injured.”

Richie stuffed three fries in his mouth at once and ignored everyone.

“I told them that Eddie could make that decision when he’s fully conscious,” Mike said. “He should get to choose what he says about all this.”

The murmurs of agreement around the table were tinged with relief at finding an excuse to avoid making that call.

The food felt heavy in Richie’s stomach. He took a long sip from his soda and pulled the phone out of his pocket, single-minded in his task.

“What are you doing, Rich?” Ben asked.

“Booking my plane ticket home,” Richie answered. There was no response to that, and when Richie glanced up, he saw the rest of them staring at him. “Not, like, tonight,” he added. “But if Eddie’s only going to be here a few days then I’ve got stuff to get back to. I could probably make my Phoenix dates if I leave on Thursday.”

He knew he couldn’t handle seeing the esteemed Mrs. Kaspbrak at Eddie’s bedside, holding him, kissing him. No, Richie needed to be as far away as fucking possible when that happened. If there was a shuttle to the moon, he’d take it.

* * *

After visiting hours ended, Richie was back in his motel room. He popped three Advil and then began the slow, careful work of stripping out of the clothes he planned on burning after this. Tentatively, he tried to raise his left arm and grunted in pain at the way it aggravated his bruises and made his shoulder throb.

“Shit.”

The shower he took was painful but necessary. Dirt and blood and who knew what else sluiced off his body and down the shower’s drain in brown and red swirls. He washed as quickly as he could, trying to keep his head out of the spray. When that was done, he used his hands to cup the water and let it run gently over his matted hair, careful of the gash on the back of his head.

When he finished, he dried off with a motel towel and managed to put on a clean pair of boxers and an old t-shirt. He’d just lowered himself onto the bed - back against the headboard, bare feet crossed at the ankles - and was about to turn on the television when there was a sharp rap on the door.

Richie groaned and knocked his head back against the solid wood behind him in frustration. Another knock followed the first, and Richie shouted, “Who is it?”

“Get out here and smoke with me, Richie,” Bev’s muffled voice demanded.

He sighed. “Hang on."

He hauled himself back out of the bed and contemplated putting on pants before deciding to fuck it.

The walk to the door took about twice the time it should have, and when Richie undid the latch, Bev stood on the other side in a tank top and flannel pajama pants. She held up a joint and a lighter invitingly.

Richie’s eyebrows rose. “You mean that kind of smoking,” he said.

“To help us sleep,” she answered. “Come on.”

He hobbled out onto the sidewalk and motioned for Bev to lead the way.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, eyeing with concern the way he shuffled to the curb.

“I’m an old man who just fought a demon clown, Bevvie. Cut me some slack,” he said.

They walked into the parking lot and ended up leaning against Richie's rental car. Bev put the end of the joint between her lips and lit it. She looked up at the black sky and took two long drags from it before passing it to Richie.

The first hit filled his lungs, and he held onto it for as long as he could before turning his head and exhaling the smoke away from Bev in a long stream.

When he handed it back to her, she asked, “What did you see?”

Richie’s body stiffened, and for a moment he thought about ignoring the question or playing dumb, but instead he answered, “A nightmare.”

“Yeah. Did Eddie die?”

“Mm,” Richie responded.

“Figured, with how you acted at the hospital,” she admitted. “Anyone else or just him?”

“Just him. But it wasn’t only that,” Richie told her. He tried to formulate his thoughts. “It was what came after that. I lived months inside of the lights. It was _months_ , Bev. And I know it wasn't real, but it _feels_ real. Like...like I lost my phone in that reality, when Mike and Ben dragged me out of the house. Must have fallen out of my pocket. When I got back to LA, I bought another one and decided to just get a new number while I was at it. I still have the number memorized.” He picked at his ragged cuticles. “I'm should be happier, right? That it was all fake? But right now the disconnect is fucking me up.”

She offered him the last of the joint. “Finish,” she said. He took the final hit and flicked it away. Bev leaned her head on his shoulder. “Fuck that clown,” she said.

“Fuck him,” Richie agreed.

“It’ll fade,” she assured him, her eyes going distant for a second before she shook it off. “And we’re all here for you now, Rich. Even Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Richie said, patting her knee. “I know.”

* * *

It took more than a full day for the industrial pain meds to work their way through Eddie’s system. When they walked into his room on Tuesday morning, he was sitting up in bed, drinking through a straw from a tiny, plastic cup.

There were dark circles under his eyes, but it was the first time since the accident that his pupils weren’t dilated and hazy.

“Hey, look whose bed is at a ninety degree angle!” Richie cheered when they walked in.

Eddie put his cup down and waved his finger in the air sarcastically. “Woo-fuckin-hoo,” he said. “It took you guys long enough to get here today.”

“It’s barely eight-thirty!” Bill protested good-naturedly around a smile.

“Hmm,” Eddie said and shoveled a forkful of pitiful-looking scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Donna’s alright,” he said as he chewed, “but I finally met my doctor, and he’s a moron. I don’t know where he got his medical degree, but it pissed him off when I asked.”

Richie smiled down at the floor, helplessly fond, as Eddie continued to complain about the level of care he’d been receiving.

“How are you doing anyway?” Mike asked, interrupting a rant about correct hand washing procedures.

Eddie shrugged. “I can finally think again, which is nice. But now I can feel the gaping fucking hole in my stomach, so. My tolerance for pain medication is high as shit, too, which means they must have had me pumped me up to the gills with morphine. I must have been _flying_.”

“You were something else,” Richie agreed.

Eddie glared and he said, “Hey, asshole, I can’t be held accountable for anything I said or did while off my nuts on opioids,” he said.

Richie raised both hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not,” he said, refusing to think about Eddie muttering _like ‘em too much_ , his words sunny and slurred.

Eddie eyed him for another moment before appearing to let it go. “Anyway,” he said. “Come here, would you?”

“Me?” Richie asked.

“No, your mom,” Eddie answered. “Yes, you. Come here.”

Cautiously, Richie walked around Eddie’s bed until he was next to him.

“What’s up, Eds?” Richie asked.

“Come _here_ , I said,” Eddie answered, waving an impatient hand at him.

Richie edged closer, until his thighs touched the mattress. “OK?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Eddie agreed, scooting up straighter on the bed. He gazed up at Richie with those big, serious brown eyes. “You alright?” he asked. Richie didn't know what game Eddie was playing, but he knew that was cheating. “Last thing I remember is you hovering in the air and your eyes going white,” Eddie clarified.

He swallowed around the bile threatening to rise up in his throat.

“I’m fine, Eds,” he answered when he trusted himself to speak again. “You took care of that bitch.”

Richie had no memory of it happening - occupied as he was with drowning in his own worst nightmare. But he’d heard the story in the aftermath as they waited on news about Eddie.

“ _This kills monsters_ ,” Eddie murmured nonsensically to himself, breaking Richie away from his thoughts.

“What a bad ass,” Bev answered from the foot of the bed, her hand wrapped around one of Eddie’s ankles above the blanket.

Eddie scoffed at her and then turned back to Richie, who was still hovering beside him. Without any warning, he reached for the bottom of Richie’s loose, frayed grey thrift store t-shirt.

“Whoa!” Richie said, batting Eddie away. “What the hell?”

“Stop,” Eddie said. He grabbed Richie’s wrist in one hand to pin it to the mattress, and with the other, Eddie pushed the shirt up Richie’s stomach until the bruising on his side was revealed. Richie flinched away when Eddie touched it.

“I fucking knew it after how far you fell,” Eddie declared. He took his hand out from under Richie’s shirt and groped for the call button on the other side of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Richie asked.

“None of you made this asshole get checked out after he did a fifty foot free fall onto the rocks?” Eddie asked the others accusingly.

“We were kind of busy at the time,” Stan said, but he gave Richie a concerned look.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Richie told him just as Donna the nurse walked in.

“Did you need something, Mr. Kaspbrak?” she asked.

“Yeah, can you take a look at this guy and make sure he doesn’t have a concussion or any cracked ribs - “

“I’m - “ Richie tried again, but Eddie spoke over him.

“ - or punctured lungs?”

“I didn’t puncture my lung, Eddie, jesus,” Richie said. “I think I’d be able to tell by now.”

“Still, it probably couldn’t hurt to ch - ch- check,” Bill said.

“Et tu, Big Bill?” Richie said, then looked at the nurse. “No ribs cracked, no lungs punctured, brain’s as scrambled as it ever was. It’s just some bruising on my side. Not a big deal.” He failed to mention the head wound, but he hadn't died in his sleep yet, so it was probably fine.

She looked unconvinced, but responded, “I can’t force you, but it would be a good idea to have a doctor look at it.”

Richie shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Ok, well it’s your choice,” Donna said and then turned back to Eddie. "Oh, since you’re looking more alert this morning, Mr. Kaspbrak, I wanted to talk to you about next of kin. Do you have a spouse or other family member we could contact for you?”

Richie tried to free his wrist from Eddie's grasp, but Eddie tightened his hold as soon as he tried to rotate it away.

“No,” Eddie responded firmly. “I’m divorcing my wife.”

“ _Wha -_ ” Richie choked out, but when he looked up, no one else even seemed surprised. “Eddie, what the fuck?”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Eddie reaffirmed.

“Um,” the nurse looked extremely uncomfortable. “Well. That answers that. I’ll come back to check on your medication in about an hour.” Once again, she high-tailed it out of the room

“I’m divorcing Myra,” Eddie said for a third time, apparently warming to this topic. “Mike, I want a divorce.”

Mike glanced at the rest of them, panicked. “Why is he only telling me?”

Eddie waved his free hand in the air. “Because you know how to do stuff.”

“Yeah, _magic_ stuff,” Mike said.

Bev stepped forward and gave Eddie a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Eddie sighed and nodded. “Alright.”

“You know what?" Stan said in the silence that followed "I think I’m gonna grab some breakfast." He patted Mike on the back to follow him.

“Me too,” Bill chimed in.

“I’m starving,” Ben added.

Richie glanced at the others and then down at Eddie. “Do you want anything? Some tea or - “ Eddie squeezed his wrist enough to hurt. “ _Or_ I guess I’m staying here,” Richie finished.

“I’ll get you a bagel, Richie,” Bev said with a little wave as the rest of them left he and Eddie alone.

“I’m gonna need that hand back eventually, Eds,” Richie joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. “That’s the one I use to jerk off. I can’t live without it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eddie said, not taking the obvious bait.

“Well,” Richie replied, at a loss. “Want to watch TV?”

“You pushed me out of the way,” Eddie said. “You saved my life.”

Richie awkwardly scratched at his hair and dodged around the sincerity in Eddie's voice. “You saved mine first,” he replied. “We’re even.”

Eddie frowned as if he was about to argue, but then said, “When I saw you stuck in the deadlights, it was the scariest moment of my life. And that's a high fucking bar to clear.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Richie said, images flashing through his mind of Eddie’s lifeless body getting buried under the rubble.

“We almost died, Richie. And I've been laying here for two days thinking about how miserable my life is. I have no friends, I'm stuck in a terrible marriage, I'm too scared to even eat the food I want. Who the fuck is scared of mint chocolate chip ice cream, Richie? I use an inhaler I don’t need, take meds I know are useless...What a shitshow.”

Richie frowned at him. “Hey, you think you’re the only one the clown fucked over? We’re all messed up, it’s not just you. And you have friends now.”

”I know, but almost being dead by forty helped put the full scope of it into perspective for me,” Eddie admitted.

“So you’re getting a divorce,” Richie said.

“So I’m getting a divorce,” Eddie agreed. “Among other things.”

Richie whistled through his teeth. “Oh yeah? What other things? Gonna get a back tattoo?”

Eddie snorted. “I didn’t survive a skewering just to die of sepsis, assface,” he replied.

“‘Assface’?” Richie parroted. “Eds, my absence from your life is crystal clear in the low caliber of your insults. But fine, no tramp stamp for you. Then what?”

Eddie’s expression shifted into something more serious. “It’s like you said. We all got fucked up and fucked over by what happened to us in different ways.”

“And?”

Eddie’s eyes traced over his face, searching for something that Richie didn’t understand. “And...I wanted to tell you...I just wanted to say...I don't think you're pathetic, Richie,” he finished quietly.

Richie stared at him, confused. “I mean, I wasn’t concerned about that until right now, but thanks, I guess?”

“Rich,” Eddie said and looked like he was waiting for Richie to get it.

“Why are you...” He froze as realization dawned. Richie had called himself pathetic that day he talked to Ben. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it in front of me,” Eddie responded.

“Fuck,” Richie swore. He tried again to wrench his wrist away.

“Hey!” Eddie said, his other hand joining the first to keep Richie in a surprisingly tight grip. “If you make me pull out my IV, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!”

Richie stilled at the threat and let his hand go lax. There was a sheen of sweat on Eddie's forehead and his annoyed expression held more than a hint of pain in it.

“Thank you,” Eddie said with a sigh and relaxed back onto the raised mattress.

“Look, Eddie, you might think this is the nice thing to do, but if I have to hear you try and let me down gently - ” Richie began.

“I’m not trying to let you down at all!”

“Then what…?” Richie asked

“Maybe if you’d shut up and listen to me for thirty fucking seconds you’d know,” Eddie said. “God, you drive me crazy!”

Richie scoffed. “You’re in good company,” he said.

Eddie shook his head. “No, not the way you do with everyone else. You’ve always made me lose my goddamn mind, Richie. Sophomore year, you got a new pair of glasses, and it was all I could think about for a fucking _week_.”

Richie grinned a bit as that memory was jostled loose inside of his brain. “I remember. You hated those glasses.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “No. I didn’t.”

“Ok…” Richie said.

“In eighth grade, you and Jenny Pedersen did a couples' skate to some REO Speedwagon song at the skating rink, and I got so mad I went home and tore up my pillow with a pair of scissors. I told my mom that I was sleeping without it because my back hurt, and the next day she took me to the doctor to have me checked for scoliosis,” Eddie added.

“Did you have it?” Richie joked.

“What I had was a huge fucking boner for you, man. I don’t know how you missed it. All I ever wanted back then was for you to pay attention to me,” Eddie said.

Richie stared down at their hands and felt the fast, heavy thumping of his heart inside his chest. He took a deep breath, licked his lips and said, “All I ever did back then was pay attention to you.”

“Yeah, well, we were both idiots. No surprise there,” Eddie replied. “The first thing I thought when I saw you again was, ‘oh man, it’s this fucking guy.’ And then I thought, ‘wait, that’s Richie Tozier. That’s _Richie_. How the fuck did I forget about Richie?” The hand around Richie’s wrist flexed. Richie couldn’t tear his eyes away from that point of contact between them as Eddie continued to speak, low and urgent. “And then I got mad. I got fucking furious at what was taken away from me.”

“Me too,” Richie admitted.

Eddie rubbed his thumb across the back of Richie’s hand, a firm, deliberate touch that made Richie’s head shoot up and meet his gaze.

“You live in LA, you said?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Richie replied. He tried to swallow, but his throat felt like it was coated with sand.

“Hmm,” Eddie said. He was quiet for a minute and then he added, “It’s gonna be a pain in the ass to ship all my stuff there from New York.”

Richie stared down at him, eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

“How much of a disaster is your place?” Eddie went on, heedless of Richie’s shock.

“Uh…” Richie fumbled as he tried to focus on the question that Eddie asked, his mind still reeling. “Uh, a service comes to clean it twice a month.”

“I know you,” Eddie steamrolled on. “We’re gonna have to make it once a week.”

“Ok,” Richie said weakly. “Does that mean you’re...coming to live with me?”

Eddie’s bravado seemed to falter a bit and he ducked his head, his eyes cautious as he looked up at Richie from beneath his lashes.

Richie’s heart was going to smash right through his fucking chest.

“Yeah, I mean, if you wanted,” Eddie said.

If Richie wanted? If he...if he _wanted_...

For a wild, terrifying moment, Richie thought that he must be back in the deadlights, that this must be another one of Pennywise’s sadistic tricks. Any second now, he’d wake up back at Neibolt, clutching Eddie’s lifeless body to his chest as Ben and Mike tried to drag him away.

“Richie?” Eddie asked uncertainly.

Well, fuck it. If this was going to turn out badly anyway, he might as well enjoy the time he had before the T-Rex-sized rat with the clown's face on it crashed through the door to eat him or whatever.

“Of course you can stay with me if you need some place to crash,” he answered. “I have two guest rooms, so -- “

“Fuck your guest rooms,” Eddie said, cutting him off.

“Fuck...my…” Richie said slowly, trailing off. He wasn’t misunderstanding this, right? He was slow on the uptake sometimes, but he couldn’t be reading what Eddie meant _that_ wrong, could he?

As if in response to Richie’s silent questions, Eddie released his hold on Richie’s wrist and twisted so that instead their fingers were threaded together.

“Fuck your guest rooms, Richie,” Eddie said again.

“I...I…” Richie was, and had always been, a crier. He knew that about himself, but that didn’t stop the hot rush of embarrassment when he felt his throat constrict and his eyes start to sting. He looked up at the white ceiling, at the door, at the blanket covering Eddie’s legs, over Eddie’s head at the machines chirping sedately, anywhere but directly at Eddie.

After a long stretch of silence, Eddie sighed and seemed to take pity on Richie.

“Stop hovering over me like Slenderman, you lanky fuck,” he said. “Get a chair and sit down.”

Eddie gave the directive, but still made no effort to release Richie’s hand. So instead, Richie stretched out and grabbed the back of a nearby chair. He dragged it over to the bed, wincing at the loud screech of the legs against the floor. Richie sat down heavily.

“Eddie,” he finally managed. He had no idea what his face was doing, and he could only imagine how wide his eyes looked magnified by the lenses of his glasses.

His expression must have said something, though, probably more than Richie wanted it to, because Eddie’s mouth curled up in a small grin that made Richie’s chest tighten.

“Good,” Eddie said and closed his eyes.

Richie gripped the armrests on the chair and thought hysterically: _If he just falls asleep right now, I’m going to fucking kill him._

Then Eddie’s eyes fluttered open again, and the look he gave Richie was so soft and vulnerable that it was almost worse.

Eddie said, “I think you and me, it could work, right?”

Richie stared at him.

“Rich?” Eddie prompted.

“Yes,” Richie said, his voice a choked whisper.

“And we’re on the same page here?” Eddie asked. “I’m not gonna invade your life if you don’t want it. But you told Ben you’ve been in love with me for thirty years - “

“Jesus,” Rich muttered. Had he said that to Ben? He couldn’t remember, but he must have.

“ - and we’re both adults. I don’t want to waste anymore time by beating around the bush. Do you want to be with me?”

Richie stared down at his feet. “Yes.”

“Well, don’t look so fucking happy about it,” Eddie snapped.

No one could ever say that Richie Tozier didn’t know how to ruin his own life.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Every word felt like it was being pulled out of his throat by one of those snakes that plumbers used to unclog drains.

Eddie glared at him. “Hang on, how come you get to know that you're in love with me, but when I say that _I'm_ in love with _you_ \- 

“Holy shit - ”

" - it's 'you don't know what you're talking about, Eddie'? Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Of course not. Look, Eddie..." Richie trailed off.

“No, Richie, please explain to me how that works,” Eddie demanded. "Has there been a fucking..." He waved his hand around in choppy, staccato motion. "...a fucking rash of people getting stabbed in the abdomen by a killer clown's messed up, gigantic scorpion pincer and then suddenly turning gay against their will? Did I miss that _Dateline_ special?"

Richie pushed his glasses up and squeezed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“You just had a near-death experience - “ he began.

“- So did you.”

“Yours was nearer!” Richie shouted. “For fucks sake, Eddie. You’re laying in a hospital bed with staples holding your intestines inside of your body. There’s a _hole in your face_.”

“Am I not pretty enough for you anymore?” Eddie asked.

Richie kept barreling forward while he still had momentum. Another few seconds of Eddie staring at him with those cow eyes, and he’d say ‘fuck it’ and ignore the consequences. “Now you’re saying that you want to blow up your whole life to move across the country and be with me, and, what, I’m not supposed to even question it?”

“Yes!” Eddie said.

“Well, I fucking do!” Richie answered. “This isn’t some joke to me. Or...or some spur of the moment, midlife crisis bullshit.”

If Eddie woke up the next morning and decided he’d changed his mind about this, Richie wouldn’t blame him. He’d tip his metaphorical hat, and then calmly leave the hospital and walk in front of the first bus he could find.

“Do you think I’m joking?” Eddie asked and had the gall to look _hurt_.

“I think you _don’t know what you’re saying_ ,” Richie repeated. He slammed his head back against the hard plastic headrest of the chair.

They were both panting, and one of the machines behind Eddie was beeping at an alarmingly fast rate.

“Eddie…” Richie said nervously, eyeing the rising red numbers on the screen. “Do you need your inhaler?”

Eddie seemed to come to some decision. He took a deep breath and the beeping of the machine slowed back down. “Ok,” he said finally.

Something inside of Richie’s stomach clenched tight. “Ok - what?”

“Ok, I’ll stay in your guest room.”

“I…” Richie flailed as he tried to pick up the thread of the conversation. “Huh?”

“You offered to let me stay in your guest room, so I’ll stay in your motherfucking guest room until you get your head out of your ass,” Eddie told him.

“I only fucked your mother in the master bedroom, like a gentleman,” Richie said out of habit.

And then, upending everything Richie knew about him, instead of sputtering out an angry reply, Eddie looked him in the eye and asked, “You trying to make me jealous, Tozier?”

Richie choked and then, horrifyingly, felt his face start to flush. “Who _are_ you?” he asked.

“Richie?” Eddie prodded. “The guest room?”

“Alright, _fine_ ,” Richie said.

“Fine,” Eddie said. He settled in the mattress and, after a moment, said, “You’re helping me pack."

“Whatever,” Richie replied.

“And I mean _packing_ ,” Eddie emphasized, “to my specifications. Not just throwing shit into boxes.”

“I’ve met you, Eds,” Richie answered.

“You’re not flying back to LA soon, are you?”

“No,” Richie lied, making a note to cancel his flight. “I can stay as long as you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> so yes, the other losers were, in fact, right outside the door listening to that whole thing, along with donna, who was pretending to work but was really eavesdropping.
> 
> also *waves hands* that's probably not how contacting next of kin works, but eh.
> 
> Feel free to come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/theres-a-goldensky)!


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